Anywhere But Here
by Arcane Assassin
Summary: Her parents having finally put their foot down about her hedonistic ways, Fleur finds herself abandoned in a foreign country with nobody but a moody underclassmen for company. But maybe, just maybe, being shipped to this wet and miserable little island will turn out to be a good thing... if she ever remembers to buy those earplugs the next time she goes out.


**So, hi. I know this now places me at having 4 fics running at the same time, but yeah. I promise nothing is being abandoned, but my brain does what it wants, and apparently it really, really wanted to do this... Please don't hate me...**

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"And this is where you will be staying, Miss Delacour. I am afraid that there are no free apartments at the moment so you will be sharing with Miss Granger, I do hope that will not be a problem?" The stern looking Dorm Master and Professor turned her piercing blue eyes onto the French transfer student, her expression not granting an opportunity to complain.

The younger woman simply nodded, not at all pleased with the arrangement, but as her arrival had been somewhat unexpected, finding her own accommodation had been impossible with such short notice. With any luck she would only have to stay on campus for a few weeks before moving into her own place, and none too soon if the look of this place was anything to go by. There were books everywhere.

Literally.

They were piled precariously on the kitchen bench, even filling two of the available dining chairs, not to mention most of the table itself; they were stacked around the entrance, between the lounge chairs, with some acting as an ottoman, as well as in front of the TV, even on the coffee table. It could have been a library for the sheer volume of texts, albeit a very disorganised one, along with the variety of books lying about; there were cook books, car manuals, sports magazines, history collections, encyclopaedias, novels, both classical and modern, autobiographies, comics, it just went on and on.

And then there were pens. Lots of pens. And paper. And sheet music. Even an old sports bag right next to the door, with the soft cap hanging from the coat rack causing some confusion for Fleur; weren't the sexes separated within the dormitories? They weren't seriously going to make her share a room with a male student, were they? The professor had said _Miss_ Granger, hadn't she?

"Now this will be your key; and do try not to lose it, you may choose to have your own spare cut however, just be sure to hand it in along with the original when you leave. The Chancellor is getting rather tired of having to change the locks every year." Gathering her coat around her, the elderly professor began to weave her way through the towering stacks; careful not to knock any for fear that the whole lot would collapse.

"And this," She continued, leaving the stunned blonde, her mouth twisted into a look of pure disdain at the state of the apartment, standing in the doorway, her suitcases still outside in the hall, designer handbag slung over her arm, "will be your room." Professor McGonagall stopped at the middle door on the far side of the apartment, pushing it open with some difficulty due to the proximity of the surrounding towers. "And this," once again she paused, only this time to knock on the door to the far right of the apartment, "is your roommate's."

A soft 'come in' could be heard, as, with even greater difficulty, McGonagall managed to open the door. Fleur remained in the entrance, thinly veiled disgust weighing heavily on her brow as she looked, really looked, at the room where she was expected to be staying for the remainder of her period of study. It was dark, it was cramped, and it was certainly nothing like Beauxbatons.

There was no window in the conjoined kitchen-living area, and the bathroom, presumably the third door on the left side of the apartment, didn't look to even be half the size of what was to be her room, which was also presumably the smaller of the two bedrooms. Her parents couldn't honestly expect her to survive in such a place, especially if she had to share a room.

"Miss Delacour, if you would be so kind as to come here I would like you to meet, Miss Granger." Ushering the transfer student forward, McGonagall stepped into the room first, calling out a greeting to the room's occupant, "Good afternoon, Hermione. Do pardon the intrusion, but I thought you might wish to meet your new roommate." She indicated to the blonde woman standing behind her who was unabashedly glaring at her surroundings; there were probably twice as many books packed into the small bedroom as there were scattered throughout the whole apartment, with the piles stacked up against the walls being three deep, if not more, in places.

"Roommate?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, roommate, presumably I told you that last week?" The room's occupant simply shook her head, not even sparing a glance at the proposed intruder. "No? Well, now you know." McGonagall looked between the two girls, noting the clear displeasure on the blonde's face, and the complete indifference on the other.

Sighing in exasperation, she gave the brunette a tired look, "Do try to tone down your enthusiasm, Miss Granger."

"Yes, Professor," She said, simply turning back to her laptop, finding its contents far more intriguing than the prospect of losing her solitude.

Fleur raised an eyebrow at the comment. Tone _down_ her enthusiasm? What enthusiasm? The girl probably couldn't look _less_ enthused if she tried.

McGonagall tried to hide a smile at the typical response, turning towards Fleur, "I will leave you to get settled in then. I would suggest you check your timetable and perhaps a map as well; your classes start tomorrow. Don't be late." With a final stern glance at the glaring Frenchwoman, she began to manoeuvre her way back through the maze of books towards the door, shutting it firmly behind her.

Fleur turned back towards her roommate, having watched the Professor's exit from the apartment with barely contained outrage. Wasn't the woman even going to offer to help her move her trunks in? That being said, the distasteful creature with which she was to be sharing this space with refused to even acknowledge her presence. Fleur stared expectantly at the prone figure, whose gaze was so intensely focused on her screen she hadn't even noticed that she hadn't left the room yet.

After ten minutes passed in this way, Fleur staring pointlessly, Hermione fully occupied with her reading, jotting down the occasional note, Fleur decided that enough was enough, "Well?" She demanded, hands on hips, gaze expectant.

"Well, what?" Was Hermione's eloquent response, eyes never straying from the screen in front of her.

"Aren't 'ou going to 'elp me move my zhings?"

Hermione turned towards her at that, a single raised eyebrow speaking volumes about what she thought of Fleur's tone.

"No." In a single swift movement, she crossed the three feet between them, shoving the petulant blonde out her room with a single thrust, slamming the door shut in her livid face.

The Frenchwoman shrieked as she collided with one of the towering stacks, landing rather painfully as it tumbled onto her collapsed form. Hermione's door swung back open at the noise, but if Fleur was expecting a helping hand she was sorely mistaken.

"And don't touch my things," Once again slamming the door to emphasise her point.

Fleur swore quietly in French, her annoyance growing by leaps and bounds, and she hadn't even been in the country for more than a few hours.

_I am going to kill zhat jumped up little pest._


End file.
